What I've Become
by XxSinisterSlavexX
Summary: Arthur is sent on a mission, but he had no say in the matter. Losing his mind, he breaks down for fear of being hated. AU Soldier!Arthur, hinted USUK.


"Ranked as a Sergeant. Youngest of the S.A.S soldiers, but possibly the strongest. Outstanding reports in the field. Solo missions are the only options. Not a single mission failed. Injuries rarely take effect in work. Cold and emotionless demeanor.. Arthur Kirkland, you are the very definition of a killing machine. And here, you tell me you can't take up on a seduction mission." Silence.. "Nae. I cannot, Sir. Dishonor before disrespect."

"Explain to me, Kirkland. How is respect more important to you than Honor.." He shifted from where he stod, emerald orbs gazing without emotion. How was it more important..? To most Briton's, Honor was just as important as royalty. But, just what did he mean by respect, repesct to whom..?

"I am waiting for an answer! This is crucial, Kirkland. It's nothing hard, find the man, seduce him, get information out of him while inter course, then leave the next-" "Unforgivable. I will not stoope so low as to use my body for your work!" He growled out, for once in his life unable to hold his rage in towards the colonel. Glaring down, acidic green eyes bore down upon shocked honey browns. In a blink of an eye, green and brown clashed as the Colonel stood and glared the Briton dead in the eyes. Gazes held strong, the tension between the two of them was palpable.

"That is an order, Sergeant." Arthur flinched at the words.. He never once disobeyed orders, nor was it his nature to. Swallowing thickly, Arthur snarled before turning on his heels. The word he mumbled made the Colonel grin darkly. "Understood sir." Marching his way to the infirmary, he felt sick to his stomach. He didn't want to do this, but he had to. Unless he wanted to be lowered a rank or two, or even be thrown out of the military. Changing out of his uniform, he slipped on his normal clothes. They would have to work. Thinking about it, he couldn't even bring his garter belts.. And that terrified him more. With a shakey breath, he turned to walk to the helicopter. Arthur tried desperately to ignore the stares from his team mates. They felt pity towards the Brit, knowing he would never do this on his own free will.

"Kirkland! You need to look the damn part." Oh, how he wanted to snap that man in half, and then snap those pieces in half. He glared over his shoulder, the Colonel holding out a bag of clothes. Of course.. The old man was a fucking pervert after all. Snatching the clothes, he stormed over to the infirmary. Pulling out the clothes, eyes widen before turning to slits of a glare. He really had the audacity..

Ignoring the eyes of the American and British troops staring at his back, he began to strip, revealing scars and tattoos sprawled over his pale form. Even the boxers were tossed off. Slowly, he slipped on laced panties, snapping the bands once they were over his vitals, then he proceeded to slip on leather skinny jeans, followed shortly by the ripped tank top, which was a bit too airy for his liking. Lacing the converses tightly, he started back out to the helicopter, hating the satisfied smirk the Colonel aimed towards him. Right about now, Arthur Kirkland felt like the military's Slut, doing all the dirty work.

The copter ride was nothing special, staring out the window and silently contemplating on the matters. Would his lover forgive him for such disgusting act? Would his men be able to look him in the eyes? Shaking out those thoughts, he whispered to himself over and over again, 'This is a mission, get it done and everything will be forever forgotten.' Being dropped from outside of the town was the best option.. Who shows up to a club in a copter? That would be as better as walking up with a gun and asking about the stupid gang.

Making his way towards the supposed club his target was in, some over the top french name that made the Briton think of that retarded French bastard, Francis. Flashing his fake I.D to the bouncer, he almost gagged as the man inspected his entire body with those disgusting eyes. Letting what sounded like a moan, Arthur bolted into the club, hoping that just his body hadn't of turned a fucking bouncer on. The music was loud, the lights were too bright, and Arthur just wanted to go home and curl up next to Alfred. But, he had gone this far, there was no turning back. Emerald eyes casually scanned the crowd as he allowed his body to move along to the beat. There was indeed a lot of gays here it seeed; Grinding on each other so hard it may as well be sex with clothes on. Then he spotted his target off in the corner. No older than him, mid-20's, black hair, ugly green eyes, and a tan so fake it made Pamela Anderson's tits look real. Time to get to work..

The beat changed, and so did Arthur's demeanor as his eyes turned predatorial. Swinging his lithe hips along to the music, he found a spot that would grab the man's attention. Rotating, grinding, and spinning to the music, he made sure to flash more than friendly smiles towards the man, whom was now watching with hungry eyes. Trying to hold back the shudder of disgust, he continued to dance away, his stomach muscles starting to burn. Just as he was about to stop and grab a drink, thin arms coiled around his waist. He could fucking /feel/ the damn hard on the other was sporting as he grinded against his rear.

Swallowing down the bial that had made its way up the Briton's throat, he continued to grind back against the man, eliciting a groan from him. "..What's your name~?" He purred out, making sure to sharpen his accent for dramatic effect. It seemed to have worked. "..The name is Christoph.. And yours?" Shit, he forgot the name he had on his fake I.D, and if he let it fall out sometime, and it was wrong, he may as well be roasted. Thinking fast, he spun around to face the taller male, grinding against him more. "No need to worry~ I'll be the one screaming your name, love~" He was surprised; that voice that left his throat wasn't his at all. It sounded like a desperate, needy, British whore that he was suppose to be opposing as.. Guess he really knew how to change his attitude. He should take theater..

All thoughts crashed to a stop once he felt something cold press against his lips. His mind went blank, he stopped moving, his body froze. He didn't want this, not anymore. He couldn't do this. But, it was too late as he felt his entire mouth invaded by an alcohol soaked tongue, the taste bitter and burned his own wet cavern. Hands reached down and cupped his rear, dragging him flush against his body. This was going to be a long night..

The ride to Christoph's place was annoying and rather nerve racking. Arthur told him straight up 'No touch until we get out of public.'.. It was his way of mentally preparing himself to be scarred for the next few weeks. The taxi driver didn't looked to enthralled either by the tallers constant need to make needy grunts and the loud smacking of his lips as he licked them. The poor Briton felt like a piece of fucking candy to the grown man..

He didn't even get the time to take off his shoes once at the apartment, as Arthur found himself pinned against the front door, trapped in a messy kiss. Dragging on to the bedroom, he felt disgusted as he let this man, whom he never even know, see every inch of his pale skin. Just as he expected.. The touches burned, the kisses hurt, and the sex was just as painful as his first time. But, thankfully the man was shit faced, blathering on about his stupid fucking gang. Silently, Arthur wished he was the one piss drunk, so he wouldn't remember this, or feel it at all. The pain increased with the speed of the taller's thrusts, but surprisingly, Arthur didn't give out a single moan or groan. He felt disgusted with himself as he let his body used for hours. Finally, the man released inside of him, and it was almost enough to make the Brit cry out, not in pleasure. But in sheer disgust.

He waited an hour until Christoph was passed out to get dressed. His body.. It horrified him. Bitemarks littered his neck, hickeys could be seen everywhere, from his shoulders, to his torso, even the insides of his thighs. He was happy with himself though, he hadn't even released the entire night. Well, it was only from loathing.. Giving one last hateful glare at the man, he turned and left the house. Making his way down the streets, Arthur couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks and onto the pavement beneath his feet. Not once in his entire life had he felt so digusting, dirty and horrible.

Making his way to the base, the sun was just rising over the horizon, some men were already there. They watched the broken make his way towards the offices, fearful of the site. The man with so much fight was falling apart, the tears still hadn't stopped, and the pain in his backside was murderous. Pulling the tape recorder out from his leather pants, he slammed the device on the Colonel's desk, whom in return looked up in shock. "..I will be taking a two month leave.. and I do not fucking care if you object.." His voice. Even that was broken as he spoke.

Turning on his heels, he marched to the changing room quickly, wanting to just wash everything away, to forget it all. But, even the scalding hot water couldn't wash away the marks; both on his body and in his heart. As he started to get dressed, no one else could look at the man, wincing in pain at every movement he made. But, what finally did get their attention was a small sob. Arthur fell to his knees, gripping his hair tightly as he tried to stop the tears from flowing more. He didn't want to cry anymore. Before he knew it, his team mates were all there, snarling at the other men to look away and to get back to changing. One by one, they took turns holding and cradling their fallen comrade, feeling sickened and disgusted with the Colonel. To make the coldest man break down and cry.. It was truely unforgivable.


End file.
